


of a shooting star

by constanted



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Alternate Universe - Lost Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character and relationship tags added as we go, Desert Island, Dramadey, F/F, F/M, Kinda, M/M, Magical Realism, Mystery, No Cishets on The Beach, One Dog on The Beach, Science and Faith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-22 21:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17670758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted
Summary: Twosun Airlines flight four-hundred-and-twenty from Los Angeles to Sydney had, including staff, twenty-seven passengers. It was a three A.M. flight in the middle of February on a shitty airline, and therefore, was really only boarded by the desperate.(or: the inevitable LOST au)(brief hiatus!)





	1. TABULA RASA

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote it, i guess  
> no prior knowledge of lost is required, because i'm deviating the hell away from it. it's just like travis mcelroy said: "jack and sawyer were in love."

Twosun Airlines flight four-hundred-and-twenty from Los Angeles to Sydney had, including staff, twenty-seven passengers. It was a three A.M. flight in the middle of February on a shitty airline, and therefore, was really only boarded by the desperate.

Because of this, the news tended to skew towards an angle of “it was a _blessing_ that there weren’t more people on it,” when it disappeared halfway over the Pacific.

Or, at least, from a campfire underneath a bent piece of scrap metal on an island by the ocean, that’s how Lucretia assumes the news will tend to skew. She’s counted fifteen people, but she hasn’t really spoken to anyone—she’d been sitting next to a guy who’d snuck a full bottle of brandy on the plane, so she considers trying to find him again—he’s talking to the pilot, now.

She pushes her glasses back onto her face, and she sighs, stands up. Might as well document what’s going on. It could make a good story; Erica with the Oracle eats “It Happened To Me” type articles up like they’re candy. And pays well, too.

She pulls out her phone—fifty percent battery, enough to last a day or two, and she hits the record button.

“Hello,” she says, “My name is Lucretia Olatunji. I’m a thirty-one year-old writer from L.A., and I’ve just crashed onto a deserted island.”

That’s a shitty start. She’ll reshoot later.

She switches the camera around. Examines the beach, doused fires and nervous whispers.

“We’re on a beach, and there’s, uh, fifteen of us here—there were twenty-seven on the plane, but the back half split off, so I’m not going to, um. Assume any deaths. We’ve found three corpses, but I haven’t heard anything about—“

A man bumps into her, and he offers a gravelly-but-pleasant “sorry!” She’s seen his silhouette, he’s been carrying scrap out of the way for the last hour. But she sees his face, then, and before she can even react, he’s swept her up in a hug.

“ _Lucretia_!”

“Hey, Magnus! It’s, uh. It’s good to see you. Haven’t seen you, since, uh—fuck, since your anniversary party last year.”

“Right. But you’re busy, I’m busy, I totally—but, dude, it’s _so weird_ , Taako’s here _too_.”

“The whole gang’s back together, then,” she remarks, without much feeling. Magnus is calling Taako over, and he’s as polished as ever, looks like the star he’s become. By his side is a massive dog in a _service animal do not pet_ vest.

“I didn’t know you had a—“ she starts, because Taako doesn’t do small talk.

“She’s mine, actually,” says Magnus, touching the dog’s head. “For, uh. You know. But, uh. Anyway! Fuckin’ weird that we’re all on this flight, right? And that we all—we all survived.”

“You wanna be alone with Fisher?” Taako asks, seeing Magnus’ face, and Magnus shakes his head. Taako continues, “Jules was in the back, fuckin’ bathroom break. So she’s probably—“

“We shouldn’t assume that the people in the back are dead. That’s—we don’t want to upset ourselves earlier than necessary. We need to be reasonable.”

Magnus’ dog barks gently. Magnus says, “Pilot wants to take to everybody. Make sure we all know each other’s names.”

“You have your—“

“It’s every ten days,” Magnus says, “You got your meds?”

“I can ration. And Taako, are you still on Pristiq, because then we can—“

The chatter continues as the three of them, flanked by the dog, head over to the fire pit constructed by a fairly short fellow. Lucretia would guess he’s maybe fifty. He’s ginger, going rapidly gray, and he’s got a scrappy-looking goatee that actually suits him. On the intercom, his voice had been a bit nasal, but his tone now is grave. 

Lucretia can’t pay too much attention. She’s examining the faces. Magnus’ hair is longer and he has some scars on his face she doesn’t remember. Taako let his hair go dark again, and he has more tats. There’s an middle-aged white dude with a prosthetic arm and a slight grin, a little boy with broken round glasses, an intimidating-looking butch with a tinier but still intimidating-looking butch on her arm—a couple. The guy who had sat next to her, with kind eyes and a bit of a drunken flush. A musician Lucretia’s heard on the radio once or twice. A college-aged girl with a bandana on her head who gasps at Taako’s name. Another college-aged kid who does the same. A cowboy-looking man. And then, a man Lucretia recognizes from the news, vaguely, as the new mayor of Refuge, Texas, and his tiny daughter.

Julia had posted a lot about Refuge on social media. It wasn’t a situation like the one back in Julia’s hometown, but it was close, and Julia had lent her organizing skills to Jack Graham, here, in his reform campaigns. Magnus is probably losing his goddamn mind right now.

The group breaks up. The pilot pulls her aside.

“Ms. Olatunji, I’m—I’m a fan of your work.”

“Oh. Thank you? I—um, well, I’ve been stuck freelancing lately, but I’m glad that I’m at least reaching an audience—“

“Your firing wasn’t just, don’t be fuckin’ modest. You took down a _supervillain_ , basically.”

“And _you’re_ the Sully Sullenberger of cross-Pacific red-eyes, so that’s no joke either, sir.”

“Ms. Olatunji—“

“It’s Lucretia.”

“I’m D—I’m Dav, then. If we’re gonna do first names. Lucretia, I’m looking for a right hand so that we can figure out how to get our way out of here. If you’re willing—you’re clearly a bright young woman with organizational skills. Are you willing to—“

He’s interrupted by screams. Lucretia turns around, whip-fast, sees a bright light eating the sky. There’s not a sound to it, but rather the absence thereof. She thinks, it’s beautiful, it’s terrible, it’s everything, and then she blinks, and as soon as it started, it’s over.

“Well,” she says, “Shit.”

 

—

 

(Twosun Airlines flight four-hundred-and-twenty from Los Angeles to Sydney has, including staff, twenty-seven passengers. It’sa three A.M. flight in the middle of February on a shitty airline, and therefore, it was really only boarded by the desperate.

So, of course, Lucretia is sat next to someone. The flight attendant had insisted on keeping seats as purchased, and Lucretia is a little bit afraid of the power the flight attendant wields over her in-flight experience, so she stays. So does her seat partner, she assumes. His name is Avi, and he claims to be nocturnal. Lucretia concurs. Journalists and bartenders are similar breeds. Avi’s handsome, conventionally, the kind of man she’d claim a crush on in high school so as to cling onto the idea of heterosexuality.

She reads the airline’s SkyMall rip-off, considers the life she’d lead were she to own a massage chair. Avi speaks—

“Where are you from?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Just. Uh—trying to make small talk. I’m from Bethesda. In Maryland.”

“I grew up near that whole… area, yes. Closer to Richmond than DC. But I live in L.A. now.”

“I’m moving there soon, probably,” Avi smiles, “So, why go to Sydney?”

She debates lying, but settles on the least dramatic, most convenient version of the truth. “I needed some time off. You?”

“Cousin’s bar mitzvah.”

“Mazel.”

“You want a drink?”

“How’d you get through security?”

“I’m good at getting alcohol into places where I shouldn’t bring alcohol.”

“I think—I’m going to try to sleep.”

So she does. She doesn’t succeed, but she tries to sleep, and that’s worth something.

So the turbulence isn’t shocking. It’s just bad weather, probably. She yawns. It’s just _very bad weather_.

The flight attendant is yelling. The fasten seatbelt sign is on, and so on, and so on, and so on, and Lucretia braces herself with the experience of a hundred thousand anxiety dreams.

And she wakes up in a jungle. A dog licks her eye as it opens, and runs away.

Her arm is bleeding.

Okay. So her plane crashed. So she’s hurt. Maybe this jungle is populated. Maybe there are other survivors.

Now, though, she runs towards the smell of smoke.)

 

—

 

Magnus and the tough girl with blue hair, whose name is Carey, propose a jungle quest the next morning. The light last night—this morning?—had scared everyone off, a bit, but Lucretia knows that nerves mean Magnus needs to move, and Taako is the same. She joins them, mostly for her own curiosity. The short bearded fellow, Merle, asks to come as well.

“I got a pocketknife,” says Magnus, “So if we see, like—coconuts, or fruit, or whatever, we can cut it down.”

Carey opens her mouth as if to say something, but then shakes her head, decides not to. Lucretia examines her pockets for weapons and can’t find any. She has a backpack, though.

The jungle is lush. Untouched by humans, clearly, and barely touched by animals. Merle is identifying plants, having Magnus cut out medicinal ones—he’s a doctor, apparently. Natural, homeopathic, heinously Californian. Dar had alluded to knowing him, but Lucretia wasn’t sure why. 

“Goatweed can help with cuts, elephant ear for, uh. Also cuts. And, well. If I can prepare it right, good ol’ E-D.”

Taako groans. “I’m leaving. I’m fuckin’—don’t wanna hear about your old man dick and the plans that fix it.”

“I’m just saying, if we need to keep warm, and somebody’s not—“

“Next plant! What’s this one?” Magnus asks, pointing to a flower Fisher is sniffing.

“Ylang-ylang,” says Taako, “Have you never bought a fuckin’ soap?”

“I didn’t know what it looked like!”

“It’s always on the labels!” Carey says, “Or at least, if you _google_ it!”

“I don’t—my wife does the soap shopping, the smells are a sensory hell and also I _am_ banned from the good store.”

Lucretia laughs. Taako climbs on Magnus’ back, and there are jokes, and it’s like this is a normal hike organized by some social group, and then—

Rustling. Not from a bird, too loud—

Carey is searching through her bag, and Lucretia’s eyes cross as she tries to watch both at once, and—

Carey has a gun. Carey, who is not a member of law enforcement, who seemed like a honeymooner with her fiancee, is holding a gun, and aiming it at—

“A jellyfish?”

“That’s not a fucking jellyfish,” Taako says, clearly trying to steer Magnus away as Magnus walks closer to it. It _does_ resemble a jellyfish. But it’s floating, and it looks like it’s made of night sky. Lucretia opens up her phone and hits record.

“Why do you have a gun?” Merle asks, which is a good first step.

“I don’t think that’s as important as this… whatever the _fuck it is_!”

Magnus is reaching out an arm toward it, because of course he is. “I think we just discovered a new species,” he whispers, “Look at this thing—Luc, get a shot of the levitation, it’s fuckin’—“

The fish sings. The dog barks softly in response.

“Taako, you went to science school—“  
  
“For _chemistry_ —"

“Yeah, but you have a _doctorate._ I read on Wikipedia,” Carey says.

“Am I supposed to know who he is?” asks Merle. Lucretia says, “No.”

“That means I super don’t know biology. And I’m from TV, thanks.”

“I did an article on an aquarium that got robbed,” Lucretia offers, “Uh. I know that jellyfish—“

“Thank God you’re smart—“

“—don’t usually look like that, and don’t usually function in midair.”

“Fuck you.”

Carey puts away the gun. The fish disappears. Into thin air.

“Pokémon is real,” says Taako, “That’s my theory. Fuckin’ Tentacruel—“

“That’s more of a—Taako, I know you still play. That’s an Inkay. Gave me psychic mind-reader vibes.”

“Inkay’s not a jellyfish, asshole—“

And so on, and so forth.

 

—

 

(The three of them became friends more out of necessity than an actual desire to make friends. Well. Magnus had the desire, but the other two, less so. Taako was Magnus' foster brother, because Magnus' mother was wont to fostering, and Lucretia lived across the street. She was a year younger than them, scrawny and nerdy and significantly blacker than most of her private school classmates, and Magnus and Taako were scrappy and funny and seemed to have "good heads on their shoulders," per Magnus' mom, though Lucretia's mother tended to disagree.

But, look: you stick three kids with similar relationships to hellish identity-searching and a shared love of  _Star Trek_ into a street corner in the South, and you end up with a friendship that spans a lifetime, hopefully. Mutual protection, shoulders to cry on, nail polish test dummies, all of the above.

They'd drifted, after college, despite landing up in the same city on the opposite side of the country. Magnus got politically involved, Taako got famous, Lucretia got working. She'd bailed Magnus out a few times, and Magnus and Taako remained close, but she was disparate, focused on her own work more than her relationships in any form. She did a profile on Taako, yeah, but that's about it, other than parties.

And when she hears that  _Sizzle it Up!_ is going to Sydney for a week on tour next month on the same day she is unceremoniously fired, she books a ticket, and she hopes to repair things. Start the three of them over with a blank slate).

 

—

 

They arrive back at the fuselage with plants and a story. June Graham has latched onto Magnus, so they have to keep their stories PG-13. Angus, the little boy, claims that he’s “allowed to swear,” so they’ve adjusted from Davenport’s original rule of PG.

Lucretia’s phone dies at sundown, as she’s recording herself taking stock of the communal pile of Things. Carey and Killian both brought guns, Magnus and Joaquin and Ren and Angus all brought pocketknives. There are three varieties of antidepressants, and a giant pile of Xanax. Taako had smuggled weed onto the plane, and Avi apparently brought a lot more than just brandy. (Wine is the only alcoholic drink that Lucretia remembers being a thing at mitzvahs, but, hey, she’s not going to ask). Estrogen, testosterone. Clothes. A couple of cameras. A 3DS, 4 portable phone chargers, two laptops, pads and tampons, shampoo, razors, conditioner, cocoa butter (thank God), toothpaste. Snack food. Lots of snack food. A can of beans.

“I saw a wild pig, and some birds,” says Killian. “We can hunt it.”

“Do pistols fuckin’ work for _game_?” Taako asks.

“I meant with knives and traps, but sure.”

“And I guess _I’m_ cooking,” Taako whines, but seems proud. “Joaquin, Ren, sous chefs. Don’t get cocky.”

“I won’t let you down,” says Ren, who is beaming.

Lucretia takes one of the portable chargers, plugs it in.

“We gotta make do with this, okay?” Dav says, loud enough to be heard. “We gotta work together. Or we’ll _die._ And I don’t think any of us want that right now.”

The ocean hits scrap metal. Lucretia feels like she’s being watched.

“Do you understand me?”


	2. DO NO HARM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle navigates a complicated relationship. Magnus goes for a run. Angus is special.

Merle is treating the head wounds of the big guy, who had apparently ignored them in favor of socializing and adventuring. Merle admires the kid’s  _ moxie _ , sure, but good  _ Lord  _ is he foolish. Actually, most people on this flight seem pretty dumb. Dav’s busy being his usual self—of course he is—but most folks seem the same level of on-edge.

The big guy is fiddling with the plane’s transceiver—he worked in the tech shop in college, apparently. He won’t shut up about it. He won’t shut up about anything. Merle is also very good at not shutting up about anything. They make a good pair.

It’s just static, for a little while. Mindless buzzing. Merle was never one for white noise machines. Big guy’s face is twitchy, he keeps bursting open the stitches in place. 

He jumps up, almost crushes Merle as he falls a bit forward, steadies himself, as he hears a voice. Merle squints at him—kid’s not  _ that  _ young, he’s probably thirty, maybe twenty-five, given the alternative look. Shouldn’t be getting this excited. But it’s a voice—a woman’s, soft, saying,  _ If there’s anyone there, please respond,  _ cut in between a man, much better sound quality,  _ My name is Bar— _ , and then back to the woman,  _ we are the survivors of flight four— _

“That’s my wife!” he says, with a grin, “My wife’s alive, the tail section is alive!”

And he runs away, head still bleeding, yelling, “Taako, my wife is alive!”

So Merle’s glad, he supposes. More survivors than expected, that’s a good thing. That’s lending some support to his optimism, actually.

Merle spots Dav a couple of yards away, talking to the journalist. Lucinda? He forgets. But Dav is talking to her, and she’s arguing with him, a bit, so he thinks he’s rooting for her. Dav hasn’t spoken to him yet, of course. He has no reason to, what with Merle being the worst, after all, but—three years, you’d expect a level of politeness from him, of all people. Merle even offered a wave. That’s a big step, for him! Merle is being  _ more mature  _ about this.

Well. Except for this part, right now, because he’s decided to walk up and join the conversation.

“I’m just saying. I’m  _ certain  _ we’re not the only people who know someone in the back. Jack and June had a bodyguard. And we clearly have people who know how to use weapons, somehow, so there’s no harm in it, so long as we take precautions—“

“Lucretia, it’s not—we an’t split up that  _ early _ . If you and Taako and your friend wanna go out searching for your other friend, that’s  _ fine _ , but—“

“I’m willing to go out,” Merle offers, “The jungle’s got plenty of flora worth examining. So if there’s an adventuring party going out, sign ol’ Merle up.”

“Merle, if you could—are you doing this for you, or because you want to piss me off?”

Lucretia puts her hands up and leaves.   
  


\--

 

(Of all the people in the world, Merle’s dealer should  _ not  _ be the person to judge Merle’s life decisions. But, of course, Pringles  _ is  _ judging Merle’s life decisions, because he is now living with Merle. Or. Rather. Merle is living with Pringles. There weren’t many friends kept in the separation, and Merle’s family is a bunch of assholes. They’re assholes, and that’s coming from  _ him _ .

“Dude, this pilot… he should know about affairs, right?”

“He’s all about duty and honor, goes on and on and on about that shit. Navy guy, you know what those fuckers are like.”

“Man, you fucked up.”

“Heck and I were already separated--look. Ya don’t need to rub it in, kid. Don’t you have shit to do?”

And he does, so Pringles leaves. 

Merle’s got voicemails. One from Mavis, one from Antonia from work. Apparently, Dr. Pan is concerned about the missed work, to which Merle says, fuck Pan. Heck sent a text about figuring out custody, which he’ll respond to later. Dav blocked his number.

It’s not like Merle  _ usually  _ fucks up this badly. Among his many fuck ups, this is perhaps the greatest. But he and Heck were pretty open about their distaste for each other—they were together for the kids’ sake, for crying out loud, and most people knew that. Not the kids, hopefully, but Mavis is smart. Mavis probably knows. Mavis is also seventeen, and she was a certified child of divorce even before Merle came into the equation, so she  _ definitely  _ knows.

Fuck. That poor kid. He should see her. But should he? 

No, that would be wrong. He can pay for her college, he can do all the shit good fathers do, but he shouldn’t be around her. That’ll make shit worse. Right?

Right.

Merle starts going to work again. His patients are themselves. Two old-timers are back, even. Cassidy's having trouble keeping up with her meds. Sloane's had a rough couple of months , but she has a girlfriend now who she really loves. Merle tells her to lean into that relationship, and to prioritize that love over the desire for the material. She calls that bullshit, but she likes him better than the other therapists she's tried, anyway.

“We’re going to Sydney,” she says, one day, “It's been six months, so we’re gonna go on vacation.”

“What’s she do again?”

“She’s an engineer. Close to her PhD.”

“Good on her."

“Makes a  _ lot  _ of money.”

“I’d assume.”

“So we’re going to this one fuckin’ beach with the  _ coolest  _ plant life, okay?”

That’s what Sloane likes. Flowers, plants. Merle, too. They get along. Were it not for that damn oath, he’s sure they could be friends.

“I’ve never been to Australia,” he says.

“Hurley goes every year. She’s got family down there or some shit adjacent. It’s wild.”

“You really like this girl, huh?”

“How’s the boyfriend you mentioned, by the way?”

And he grimaces. He’s good at grimacing.)

 

\--

 

The young kid—big afro, broken bottlecap glasses, sweatervest—is latched on to Taako, who is trying to explain the appeal of this TV show Merle’s never heard of to Merle himself. Merle doesn’t watch much reality TV.

“Why does Mr. Davenport hate you, sir?” the kid asks, interrupting Taako’s feelings on Ted Allen.

“How—how do you mean?”

“He keeps glaring at you? And you also glare at him. Do you—“

“We know each other. Sometimes, Arthur, people know each other and don’t like each other, and that’s just how things are—“

“It’s Angus.”

Merle rolls his eyes, says, “Don’t snoop, kid, it’s rude.”

“It’s hard  _ not  _ to notice, sir.”

“I mean, the cap talked shit about you to  _ Lucretia _ , who had to talk to  _ me  _ about it. He called you a plant-fucking menace.”

Merle tries to protest, but he can’t really argue with that. Though he’d seemed to like it, back in the day.

“Don’t swear in front of Amadeus.”

“Angus, and I know what the word fuck means, sir.” The kid is far too smug for comfort. Some kinda Encyclopedia Brown type.

“My son’s your age and I don’t cuss in front of him, even if he knows what that word means.”

“You have a son? With Davenport?”

“Not with Davenport. He told you that we were—?” 

“He told Lucretia that.you guys were buddies with bennies.”

“Buddies with bennies?”

“Ango, cover your ears.”

“I think I’ll just—I’ll just go visit Miss Lucretia.”

He scurries away.

“Anyway. Coitus comrades. Pals with intimate knowledge of each others’ canals. Buckos with fuckos. Chums who—“

“I get it. Yes. We, uh. We were real fuckin’ intimate, back in the day. By which I mean thirty years ago. And also three years ago.”

“Oh, shit, old gay drama. I’m intrigued, but, uh—“

He points, and Merle sees the beach as it was yesterday, lush and lovely but fairly desert. He sees that Johann kid trying to tune up his broken guitar, sees Angus floating in midair, sees Dav calling for—

Wait, what the  _ fuck _ ?

“Wait, what the fuck?”

“Uh, you wanna be a medical profesh, or—“

“Yeah, uh, I’ve never treated juvenile levitation, believe it or not, Mr. TV Star, you;d have—“

“My show is a  _ reality show _ , we don’t fuckin’  _ levitate—“ _

Taako and Merle rush over to the scene. It’s bizarre.

Angus falls back to the ground, smiles, says, “What’s wrong?”

“You just—“

“I’ve just been standing here?”

He tilts his head, and—of course. He was just standing there. Must’ve been a trick of the wind, whatever he just—whatever had made Merle run over here. The crowd disperses. Merle blinks, his head feeling a bit foggy.

Lucretia is staring at the camera she’d stolen from the inventory. She pulls Taako aside, and sneaks him off to the corner of camp that they’d claimed.

And Merle is alone again.

The big guy is gone by sundown, off chasing the radio signal. Merle is almost entirely sure he won’t come back.

 

\--

 

(Twosun is risky, because he knows it’s pretty small and Dav flies for it, but it’s the cheapest ticket for a getaway, and Mavis’ financial aid isn’t great enough that he’s good to spend money wildly. So he books a cheap flight, and he lets himself indulge. Pan gave him the week off, Heck’s willing to keep Mookie for the weekend even if it’s technically Merle’s turn, so on, so forth. He can be by himself.

Things have eased out in the last few years. He’s got an apartment, he’s got his job, and he’s been dating, which he thinks is a fairly impressive feat. That’s all he really wanted when he was twenty-five, before shit got complicated, so, hey, he’s all good, he thinks. Merle’s  _ mostly  _ got his shit together, keyword mostly, sure, but that’s still a level he’s yet to achieve prior to now. He deserves a vacation.

So, he buys a ticket! A trip for one, a beachside resort, warm weather and a different beach than the ones he’s used to.

He’s sat next to a couple on the plane, ridiculously affectionate. Kids, probably fresh out of college. Green hair and blue hair. They don’t ask why he winces at the intercom, but they do kinda take over his seat, which isn’t great. But he falls asleep, and so does the green-haired kid, and it’s fine. He dreams—he always dreams. He dreams about the plane crashing because he’s on it, he dreams about the damn dog a few rows away, that shed all over him earlier.

He dreams about a storm.

Or. No. That’s not a dream.

He smells smoke as he wakes up. The green-haired kid has her arm braced on him, protective. He sees blood on her cheek, realizes that this plane is falling the fuck apart, and there’s a resounding chorus of screams, of a man yelling  _ Julia _ ! and a woman panicking over her restaurant.

And in the seat across from him, a child sits blank faced. Or, no, he looks scared, but his face is held steady. He’s shaking, but—

Merle blacks out.

He doesn’t dream, this time around, but, rather, he thinks he’s dreaming when he wakes up.)

 

\--

 

He sneaks in on the TV star and the journalist, because they seem to be interesting, and because they don’t really care about authority, and because everyone else is talking to Dav, now.

“Angus, he’s fucking with out memories. And he won’t elaborate about why he’s traveling alone—“

“I didn’t have parents. He mentioned his guardian is his grandpa. Which implies geriatricism. Maybe he’d—“

“You had foster parents. You had guardians. You. Merle. You’re a father. Under what circumstances would you let your children fly a red-eye alone?”

“How do you know I have—“

“Davenport told me. Also, I know everything. If you’re going to spend time with me, you’d best recognize it.”

“I wouldn’t let my kids do that. But they’re adults now, actually. But that kiddo’s age? Nah, that’s danger.”

Which is true. Lucretia presses play on the viewfinder of the camera she’s using, shows Merle a video he can’t focus on. This is the fourth time she’s done this. He repeats, “I can’t tell you,” when she asks what he sees.

Merle is a people person. He’s in his field for a reason, and he’s good at it for a reason. Lucretia and Taako are tough nuts to crack, but he can see himself in them. Only broken people’d take a flight like this, right? They’ve all got their fault lines. The two of them—however much they claim to be friends—are tenser around each other without the big guy around. Lucretia is trying to seem tougher than she is. Taako is trying to live up to something. They seem to both try to analyze him, the same way he does with them. He wonders what they see.

But there’s no value in self-analysis through the lens of others’ perceptions. Not right now.

“You can camp with us, by the way,” Lucretia says, and while Taako glares at her, he nods. “You said earlier you’d like to go out on an adventure. Carey, Killian, Taako, and I are heading out, looking for Magnus at dawn. You’re a nature expert, moreso than—than myself. And—Davenport won’t like that, very much, but the four of us, we—we think it’s important., and—“

“I’ll join in, sure.”

And he means it.

The sun sets over the sea, reds and pinks and violets and oranges. Merle can’t help but think it feels too familiar.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudo! comment! tell a friend!


	3. CONFIDENCE MAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus finds someone. Jack and Isaak have a talk. Carey comes clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for: offscreen character death, mentions of severe violence, and discussion of ptsd that may sound dismissive.

Magnus probably should’ve taken somebody with him, but he’s never really been one for foresight. And, look, he’s got Fisher, so he’s not technically alone. And four people at the camp know him already, they know how to track him. He’s not a subtle man. He ties his hair back, wipes the sweat off of his brow. It’s fuckin’ humid here, certainly moreso than back home. But if Julia’s out here and alive, it’s worth it. And she’s tougher than him—of course she survived.

He turns the transceiver back on, only hears static. Exhales.

He’s been at this for a few hours, so he sits down. Scores a fruit he found earlier, which is sweet and juicy, probably mango-adjacent. Feeds a piece to Fisher.

He keeps sitting down for a little while, relishes in the shade this spot grants him. Keeps listening to the static—it makes for good white noise, if nothing else. Fisher paws at him, even if he doesn’t feel panicky or out of it. He misses hiking—before everything happened, he and Julia would go hiking every free day they had. Just the two of them. She knew all of the best spots—she’d only been in California a year longer than him, and yet, she seemed to know all of its secrets. If she’s dead—and she’s not, she can’t be—he won’t know how to deal with himself. He’s already been too afraid of that once, he can’t bear it again, he’ll let himself die before—

Fisher nudges his knee. He exhales, not realizing that he had inhaled in the first place, and he pats her head.

He hears rustling around him, as he’s dragged back into himself. So he stands, and he starts walking again. It’s probably just birds, he thinks. Or another giant jellyfish, or something. Maybe a bear. He’d be down for all of the above.

Fisher halts before him, trying to create space. So there’s probablya bear. Or something else big. A giant snake? Spiders also live in jungles, and given the whole jellyfish situation, there might be giant spiders here. And if so, that means Magnus is absolutely going to die out here. Fuck. Fuck.

There’s only two legs on the ground. Running. He can hear breathing.

He ducks behind a tree.

A woman, holding a gun. Warm skin, dark eyes, long and dark hair. She’s taller than he his. She looks almost like—but—no, that wouldn’t make sense. Taako’s an only child, he’d been sure of that. And even if he did have a sibling, there’s no way that coincidence would line up that she was also on their flight, or just happened to live on the island where they crash landed.

“Whose fuckin’ dog is this?” she asks. Pulls out a gun. Fuck. Fuck! Aims it at him.

He emerges, arms above his head says, “Uh. I’m—I’m nice. I promise, I—I swear, I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m just here to—“

“Barry?” 

 

—

 

(When they got serious, Julia had told him, “I’m dangerous.”

And he had said, “I don’t mind dangerous.”

And she had said, “No, baby, I mean—like, _action movie_ dangerous, like political intrigue dangerous, I—I need you to know this. There’s a reason I’m—there’s a reason I didn’t tell you my last name for a month, y’know? There’s—there’s a reason I don’t go home.”

“ _I don’t mind dangerous_.”)

 

—

 

“I’m not—my name’s Magnus. Is your last name Yuno? Are you—“

She cocks the gun. Fuck.

“I’m friendly, I promise. My flight crashed, and—“

“How do you know my name?”

“I know this—my best friend, he looks _just_ like you. Like, sibling level shit. If you wanna—do you have a first name, ma’am?”

“Lup.”

“Cool. So, uh,” he tucks his pocketknife into his pocket, “If you wanna put down the gun, that’d be, uh. Real cool? Uh, and just—look, Lup, who’s Barry?”

“He’s my friend. He’s been stuck here a few years, and I found a way to break him out, and—and, look, I’m supposed to meet him this week, so I just—look. Look. Uh. You were on the Twosun flight?” She puts down the gun.

“Uh. Yeah? Do you—do you live here?”

“Yes. Can you take me to the other survivors?”

“Can you tell me if there are multiple groups of survivors?”

“Can you take me to your camp?”

“Give me your gun.”

“You know how to shoot?”

“Fuck no. And I _won’t_ shoot.” He sighs. She also sighs. Hands him the weapon. “Is the island not desert?”

“It has twenty people living on it. Well. Twenty plus… uh.” She counts on her fingers, “Another twenty. From your flight. And Barry. Forty one total.”

“There are fifteen of us.”

Lup nods. Fisher barks. Magnus glares.

A shot through the woods. Lup mutters something to herself—of the languages Taako’s bio family spoke, it’s none of the above, given Magnus’ grandfather’s Yiddish lessons and high school Spanish and 101 Japanese. Or Tolkien Elvish, which he and Taako taught themselves as kids. Lucretia speaks ten languages, though—maybe she could—

Whatever. He’s going off on eighty pathways he doesn’t need to go on. Julia had his Concerta in her backpack.

“Is my wife alive?”

“What’s her name?”

“I’m not. Julia.”

“She’s alive,” Lup says, “And she’ll stay alive if you take me to your fucking camp.”

Another shot.

“That your crew, or mine?”

“My guess is as good as yours, babe.”

“You know my wife’s name but not mine?”  


“No offense, Maggie, but we’re gonna pay more attention to her than you. You understand why.”

Magnus crouches and pulls Fisher in tight, and then, he says, “Okay, Lup. I’ll take you with me.”

 

—

 

(It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in fights before. Fuck, when he was ten, he’d gotten his ass kicked for a fucking dog’s sake. He’d beat a kid up with a softball bat for talking shit about Taako, and he got a scar over his eye first weekend of art school for reasons he _still_ can’t quite decipher.

But this fight was different. This was—targeted. Not for something he’d done, not to achieve anything other than hurt for someone he loved. He fought back, but he’s not fucking trained. These people are. He thought hitmen were only a thing in movies. And that’s his last thought before he blacks out, of course.

“Hyphenating was a mistake,” says Julia, when he wakes up, head fuzzy.

“Not your fault that my name’s on TV once a week plus reruns.” It hurts to talk. He’s got an IV in. But she laughs, and it’s worth it.

“Got you a bear. Smells like grandmas.”

She sets it on his chest. It’s big, soft. Lavender—his favorite. He tries to smile, and winces at the pain. “This isn’t your fault,” he says, “I—you doing something super dope and radical and revolutionary doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person.”

“I know, but you’re still—“

“I’m an idiot, Jules, I would’ve gotten my ass kicked regardless. If not by Kalen’s people, then by some rich movie exec’s people, or something.”

“Yeah,” she’d said. “Taako says production meeting’s cancelled, by the way, because next season needs some big-ass sets and we need you in top shape, idiot. His words. Also, he sent fruit basket without any grapes in it.”)

 

—

 

Lup does not answer many questions, but Magnus is chatty enough that he can glean some info off of her. She’s a physicist, apparently, went to M.I.T. for undergrad, Stanford grad. She’s lived on this island the rest of her life, childhood to adulthood. She has an uncle who passed away recently who _also_ lived here, part of some commune. Her family is American. There used to be more people on the commune, but she doesn’t explain where they went. She doesn’t watch cooking TV because she yells at the screen, correcting the technique.

“And you?”

“You know who my wife is. You can probably get enough detail from that alone.”

“Buddy, you’re a brick shithouse artist with a service dog and a bleeding head wound. Forgive me for being curious.”

“Got it in one!”

“It being?”

“Me.”

“I don’t know your story.”

“I don’t know yours either.”

“You know plenty.”

“And vice versa. But, hey. I’ll bite. I’m from Virginia? My mom’s a doctor? I was the captain of my high school’s softball team until I landed a guy in the hospital. I’m named after the Robot Fighter.”

“A doctor named you after a _robot fighter_?”

“A thirteen year old boy named me after a robot fighter, because my grandpa had a lot of vintage comic books. I was gonna do Luke Cage, but I already had a friend called Luc, so…”

“A ten year old girl named _me_ after a wolf lady.”

“Hey, same hat!”

Lup grins, repeats the phrase back, shakes her head. “So tell me about my doppleganger. Yaakov. Is he chill?” And it’s strange, the way she speaks about the idea of Taako—not just the unfamiliarity, but with caution. Taako was closed off when Magnus first met him—hell, he’s closed off now. Lup carries herself a little differently, but some of the motions are the same. The reflections, the eye twitches.

“Yeah. He’s chill.”

 

—

 

(Magnus gets help, because Julia insists he does. Dr. Walt Adalbern, who moonlights as a wrestler, Magnus assumes, based on his build, is helpful, mostly. He uses a lot of words about trauma and paranoia, and Magnus tends to scoot away from those labels, but, hey, Adalbern’s suggestion of a service animal means that he and Julia can finally get a dog into their apartment. And also, having a giant ass weight _would_ be grounding. And the meds help, and the dog fuckin’ helps, and—

And Kalen’s people are gone, vanished. And he and Julia are thinking about adopting, and _Sizzle it Up!_ is a hit, and—

And, well, when Taako says, “How about’s we head over for the Australia taping a little early,” he jumps at the chance. They deserve a vacation.)

 

—

 

Fisher barks when they’re about a half mile away from the fuselage, signaling someone coming towards them. It’s Davenport. Lup ducks behind a tree.

“Jack’s dead,” Davenport says. “Isaak, he—he wasn’t on the plane, and—Jack’s dead.”

Magnus blinks, a little blankly. And then—

“There’s twenty people on this island who weren’t on the plane. They’re researchers. Scientists. And they have firearms, and they’re—they’re liars. So—“

“Did you meet one?”

“Fuck yeah I did. Lup, c’mon—c’mon out.”

She does, cautious. Eyes sharp.

Magnus grabs the gun out of his backpack. Lup flinches. He hands the gun to Davenport. Davenport says, “Good work.”

“Don’t hurt her. She’s tryin’ to—if she’s not lying, she’s got info on other survivors of the flight. Including—“

“Your wife, yes.”

“Yeah.”

He retreats to the beach, as Davenport stays back to interrogate. June is with Taako and Merle, anyway—Merle’s a psych, Taako’s weirdly good with kids. But Magnus knows June, knew—past tense—Jack.

“Mr. Wax,” June says, soggy.

“Can I—can I hug you?”

And she does. He picks her up—she’s twelve, but she’s tiny, wiry. Jack called her Sunflower, Junebug. Everybody called her Junebug.

“Junebug, let’s…” He starts, and Taako looks at him, mouths, _you good_? “Fish is good if you’re feeling…”

“I’m _not_ ,” she says, “It’s like I’m broken? A little bit.”

“Fish can help with that, too.”

“I think I’m gonna—uh. Thank you, Mr. Wax, but. Miss Ren said she was gonna pray and I think I wanna, uh—“

“Oh, yeah, do that. You—be safe.”

She scurries off.

When she’s gone, he sits. Lucretia joins the three of them almost immediately, along with Carey.

He can't help but ask, “How’d it go down?”

“We all—we all fuckin’ saw it,” Taako says, “It was fucked up. We were looking for you, by the way, you fuckin’ dumbass, and—Jack and Isaak were talking, a ways ahead of us. They weren’t _with_ us, though. And Isaak pulled out a gun and just fuckin’—he shot him, and he ran.”

“I chased after him,” says Lucretia, gentle, “Carey, too. And, uh. We lost him, but we found something else—“

“We shouldn’t focus on that,” Merle says, “We need to—to get us off of here.”

“Find Jules?” Lucretia asks.

“No. Found one of Isaak’s—coworkers. She seems nice. But—“

“But we can’t trust her,” Carey says.

“She looks _just_ like T, is the thing. Same last name, too, and she gave me her weapon. And—and I think she can help us. I’m not kidding.”

“Did she mention somebody else? Not from her group, but—“

“Julia’s alive,” he says, and Lucretia and Taako smile, quickly, pat his back. “And she’s looking for a guy named Barry. Who’s been stuck here.”

“Barry Hallwinter?” Lucretia pushes her glasses up her nose, pushes past Carey to lean in. Full journalist mode. Fisher barks a warning, a Not-This-Close.

“Didn’t get a surname.”

“He went missing _years_ ago. People think it was a conspiracy, he was—he was doing research about prolonging life. The singularity, and—people think he was _close_ , I was scheduled to do a profile on him, and he just—“

“You think a missing scientist lives in your little pit?” Taako snorts.

“A quarantined hatch with radioactivity warnings on it, on an island in the middle of nowhere, where people kill prominent political activists—where a plane with _two_ political activists, several celebrities—Angus is on that _Caleb Cleveland_ show that my niece watches—I’m just saying. It’s not absurd. Per Magnus, you have a doppleganger here.”

The two of them start arguing about _I can’t have a doppleganger_ , and _why do you never take my ideas seriously_ and _this isn’t one of your dumb fucking mystery novels_ and _you’re being an asshole_ and _why are you even invoking the fact that jack and jules have shit in common when jack just_ died, _you asshole_ —and Carey looks viscerally uncomfortable.

So Magnus stands up and walks away, and Carey follows him. Merle stays, is trying to interrupt, but he’s failing.

“You and Killian were gonna get married after you got back to California, right?”

Carey blinks, flushes. “Yes. Um. How did you—“

“I saw her ring. You bought it from my Etsy.”

“Oh. Um. Cool, dude, “ and she sighs, “They’re—they’re really beautiful. And cheap.”

“Jules and I made our own,” he says, laughs, “Shit’s too expensive.”

“We’re not together,” blurts Carey. “It’s part of a—I needed to get this out. We’re running a con. It’s a fake engagement. It’s—I mean. I’d love to. To marry her. But we’re more… partners in crime than. uh. Partners.”

Magnus’ eyes go wide.

“That’s why—yeah, okay, maybe needs context, but—uh. But. Dude, keep this hush—“

“I don’t think people would believe me.”

“We’re scamming a billionaire, it’s—it’s complicated. We’re—we’re hired scammers? Robin Hoods of the real world, y’know, if you wanna make it more. Romantic.”

“But then you fell in love for real?”

“I mean. I did. I don’t think—“

“You’ve just given me the best possible distraction, Blue. I think it should be made clear: Magnus loves love.”

“You’re jumping to the rom-com plot instead of the crimes?”

“I mean, look, I—I don’t wanna—you’re in _love_.”

Carey smiles at him, says, “Yeah, fine. Sure. Good luck.”

As the sun sets, the light from the first night screams again. Lup joins him at his campfire, makes shaky eye contact with Taako. No words, nothing. 

And it almost feels normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of love this valentine's day. comment, kudo, tell a friend!  
> tumblr @ yahooanswer

**Author's Note:**

> comment! please! i have plans for this bad boy. trying to update biweekly/weekly, but i can't promise anything right now.


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